“Let’s hope I don’t have to buzz you . . . unless it’s for me wanting you,” she said, her voice smooth like honey.
Honey. Funny that he thought of honey just now.
He bent his head closer to her, brushed a kiss along her neck. “You are driving me wild today,” he said with a groan. “But we need to get into position.”
“I can think of some positions I’d like,” she said, slipping her hands around his back, then down to his butt. For the briefest moment, she almost seemed to be patting his back pockets. Maybe she was reassuring herself that his phone was there. She probably wanted to know he was highly reachable if need be.
“As can I. But let’s save all that for later. I promise as soon as we finish today, I will be giving you a well-deserved trio of your favorite things,” he said as he extracted himself from her grip. He tipped his forehead to the sandwich shop. “And taking you there for lunch if you want. I think the look in your eyes says you’re lusting after a panini.”
“No. Just you,” she said, all flirty and dirty.
He resisted. Didn’t take the bait this time. “You’ll need these,” he said as he reached for his shades. Her gaze was fixed on his hand taking the binoculars from his pocket. He flicked them open and placed them on her face.
“Ooh, I feel like James Bond now.”
He explained how they worked, where she should station herself in the church, and his expected timeframe. “You’ll be safe there in the church. No one will know you’re involved.”
“Don’t you get yourself caught,” she warned.
He saluted her. “I’m like a cat. No one will hear me. My job is to be invisible,” he said, then made a poof gesture with his hands.
Twenty minutes later, they were in their locations, Steph watching the gallery through the church window, while Jake ambled along the street, checking out souvenirs of seashells at a shop kitty corner to the gallery. As he pretended to consider a conch shell keychain, a white Subaru with an image of an orange painted on the door pulled up and parked.
He set the keychain on its holder, left the shop, and strolled casually toward the gallery.
A woman in chef whites emerged from the Subaru, yanked open the hatchback, and grabbed a tray full of gourmet food. Jake smiled to himself as she headed to Isla’s Island Gallery.
A lunch ambush.
Nothing won people over faster than food. A free meal was, quite simply, a top trick of the trade, and one of the best methods of distraction known to mankind. If all went as planned, lunch would provide enough momentary cover for him to slip in through the back door. There were never any guarantees on ploys and decoys, but gifts of food usually granted you at least five minutes of safe cover while everyone converged on the goodies at once. Like animals guarding a meal, most people wouldn’t walk away from a delicious lunch spread.
As he neared the entrance to the gallery, he trained his ears on the conversation in the doorway as Clementine walked up the steps.
The black-haired Isla cocked her head to the side as the caterer spoke.
“Good afternoon. I’m Clementine from Clementine’s Catering here on Grand Cayman Island. I have a surprise lunch delivery for Isla and her amazing staff from Mr. Lynx O’Malley,” the caterer said, and Isla made an excited ooh sound. Clementine continued. “He wanted to send you this delicious gourmet lunch to thank you for all the hard work you put forth in representing his art and selling it.”
Isla’s eyes widened, and she waved Clementine inside. “How wonderful! Lynx is the most thoughtful artist I’ve ever worked with.”
Once the caterer crossed the threshold, Jake darted into the alley, made a beeline for the back door, and quickly wriggled it open. The task took less than forty seconds. Not quite a personal best, but damn close. He held his breath and said a quick prayer.
Keep them busy. Don’t let me be seen. Let me find the diamonds.
Quietly, he opened the door and peered around. Down the narrow hall. Toward the restroom. Then the X marked the spot—Isla’s office. Bam.
As he listened for the sounds of culinary delight in the main room—lip smacking, oohing and aahing—he opened the door, left it ajar, and spun in a circle in her office.
There was no art.
There were no frames.
The walls were bare.
CHAPTER FIVE
He was inside.
So easily.
Because that’s what he did. Slipped in and out and stole.
She was damn near ready to just let him dangle.
Hang him out to dry.
Hell, he was probably going to do the same to her. But the only way to uncover his true intention, and potentially the jewels, was to stick to the plan. That meant she was wearing his zoom lens shades and staring out a stained glass window in a Cayman Islands house of worship.
She had to give the guy credit. He’d tracked down a great lookout point and was doing the dirty work. He was the one putting himself in the line of fire. He could get caught red-handed with the jewels; that was the risk with this lunch ploy, but it was the only way. She had to run lookout because Isla, or one of her two employees, might wander to the back office any second, peek around a doorframe, and spot Jake lifting the diamonds.
Lifting the diamonds.
Lifting the diamonds.
Lifting the diamonds.
The words echoed like a gong.
Holy shit. He’d said he wanted her to be safe, but instead he’d cleverly shoved her out of his way. With her in the church across the street, he was scot-free to waltz away with all the diamonds now. Every single last one of them.